


Broken

by SpraceJunkie



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: M/M, and old suicidal thoughts, and who knows what Races job is, but thats pretty small, featuring Lawyer!Spot who is my favorite, is a trigger warning, okay so this focuses on Spot's depression, so that, there are also mentions of an anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpraceJunkie/pseuds/SpraceJunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I didn't realize how broken I was until you fixed me, or that you fixed me until you weren't there to hold me up anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

Race probably wouldn't have read anything if Spot hadn't been gone and he hadn't been missing him and if he hadn't been meaning to clean out all his stuff from college for a while anyway. And by a while, he meant four years, give or take. And then he still wouldn't have looked through Spot’s old binders and folders if they hadn't been on top of all of his, and since he didn't have to work and normally the next three hours of his day would be spent doing some kind of shit with Spot, he figured he might as well clean up some of Spot’s crap, too.  
So he pulled out the piles of binders that had been shoved into the closet in the hall as soon as they’d moved in and not really been touched since.  
Spot’s first few binders were all neatly tucked in, every paper hole punched and clipped into the rings, separated by topic of whatever the notes inside were on. But when he picked up the last one before his started (which was noticeable because he had far less notes and what he had were sticking out everywhere) a single piece of paper fell out. Race hadn't been taking anything out of Spot’s binders, just looking through them, really, because for all he knew, Spot was still using them and that was why all his binders were on top. Race didn't understand any single thing written down, both from the fact that Spot’s law school notes meant nothing to somebody who hadn't been in the classes and because his boyfriend’s handwriting was amazingly messy for somebody who was amazingly organized otherwise. Race had heard that geniuses often had messy handwriting though, and even though he’d never say it to Spot’s face, Spot was also amazingly smart, so he supposed that was the reason for the chicken scratch writing.  
He picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was just a piece of lined paper, but Spot’s writing on it was different than all his notes. The handwriting was bigger and clearer, but lighter than everything else written down, and then Race started to read it.   
It was sort of like a poem, but it was even more like a letter, without a particular recipient in mind. And they way it was written was insane. It was somehow clearly about certain things and yet it was vague at the same time. Race knew Spot was a writer, he’d seen him sitting in his chair typing or scribbling in a notebook long after his work had been put back into his bag, but if he hadn't signed this piece of paper with his name- his real name, which freaked Race out even more- Race might not have believed he'd really written it. It was so different from the Spot he knew. There wasn't any sarcasm, there wasn't any jokes or swears. He didn't seem like he'd been scribbling down something spur of the moment but he didn't seem like it had been planned, either. None of his personality that Race had gotten to know so well showed through at all, just this lonely tone of not wanting to be there. And when he he got the the end, there was a sign off that made Race freeze and re-read everything from the beginning.  
So yeah, I’m giving up, no, I’m not fighting anymore. And yeah, I’ll be gone in the morning. But all this pain, all this hurt, all that will be gone as well. So maybe this is goodbye to you, but it’s a good farewell for me. The best thing that I could do. Good bye, Sean Everett Conlon.  
“Stop being stupid, stop being stupid. Sean’s coming home tonight, he’s fine, he didn't kill himself. This probably isn't even a...it’s probably just a project or something from school.” But he couldn't stop thinking that Spot hadn't called or texted all day, and for that matter all he got last night was a “night, love you.” which sounded just as vague and scary as someone going to kill himself might say, and the more Race thought of it the more he freaked out, until he could barely breathe. He hadn't ever had a panic attack, but from the way Crutchie described them, he’d say this was one. He couldn't really think clearly, but he managed to pull out his phone and hit Spot’s number and wait for him to pick up.  
It rang for what felt like forever, and as it seemed like he wasn't going to pick up, Race felt himself start crying.   
“He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.” And then it picked up with a click.  
“Tony? What’s up?” Race froze in relief, but he was still crying. “Tony! What’s wrong? What happened?”  
“I thought...there was...I was so goddamn scared!”  
“Tony. What. Happened? Talk to me! What scared you? What’s the matter?”  
“I thought you went and fucking killed yourself, you goddamn idiot!”  
“What? Why? Tony, what happened?”  
“I was cleaning and there was a note and you said goodbye and then you weren’t texting me and I thought you killed yourself, Sean Conlon!”  
“A note? What are you talking about?” Spot didn't sound angry or upset, just extremely confused.  
“A note in the pile of all the old binders and I was cleaning them out and this...note fell out and I read it and you signed it and you were writing about killing yourself!”  
“Oh. Oh.” Spot’s voice shifted into soft understanding.   
“Oh? Sean, you scared the shit out of me! I thought you were dead!”  
“I’m sorry. I didn't know you were going through that stuff. I’m getting on my plane in twenty minutes, I’ll be home in three hours. Just wait for me, okay?”  
“Sean, please, explain!”  
“I’m going to, Tony, promise. As soon as I get home, alright?”  
Knowing his boyfriend was alive and not planning on killing himself helped Race calm down, but he was still trying to wrap his head around whatever was going on when the door opened three hours later and then Spot was sitting next to him on the bed, hugging him with an intensity that never came unprompted. Spot’s note was still close to them, on the floor, and right after Race relaxed his tight grip around Spot, Spot reached for the paper. He read it over, a painful reminder of the place he’d been in nearly eight years ago.  
“It’s old.” He said. “It’s...from freshman year.” Race watched him scan it over, watched his reaction. “I promise, this isn't what it’s like now.”  
“Now? It? I don't understand, Sean, what is that?”  
“Just what it looks like. A goodbye.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I wanted to die. I didn't want to exist. I didn't think life was worth it, I didn't think I was worth the space I took up. So I wrote this and stole pills from my roommate and waited for him to be gone and sat down at my desk to die.” When he started speaking, he was using he matter-of-fact, no emotions voice, but by the end his voice broke and he sounded vulnerable.   
“But...you didn't. Or even try, did you?”  
“No, I...a phone call.”  
“You didn't because somebody called you?”  
“Yeah. And...and I didn't pick up but I decided to wait to see if whoever was calling would leave a message and then I listened to the message and...it...was worth it, then.”  
“Worth it?”  
“Worth being alive for a little while longer, worth waiting for change to be a little bit later.” Spot had been fiddling with his phone, and he pulled up a voice recording and hit play.  
“Sean, Spot, whatever, I don't even know. At this point it doesn't even seem like this’ll be you, so you know what? I was really looking forward to that date. If this is you, your nines look like fucking fours and it’s a problem, but if it isn't, you're a fucking jerk who wouldn't have been worth my time anyway. If this is you, call me back, please. Or text, for all I care. Use a fucking carrier pigeon. Just contact me.” Race’s voice, small and younger from their freshman year of college, came out from Spot’s phone.   
“That...that’s the first-”  
“The first time you ever called me. And it saved me, Tony, it saved my life. You wanted me around, and you were cute, so I figured I’d wait a week or two and go on a few dates. Except I fell for you, so I worked really hard to not want to kill myself, which didn't really work but every time I thought I was going to you alway showed up or called or texted and so I’d tell myself I’d wait a little longer, a few more days, a few more weeks, whatever. And eventually I thought I’d wait until you left me, and stopped thinking I would kill myself any time soon, and once I stopped, I started to stop thinking about it as much. I started to get better.”  
“I didn't even know! God, Sean, how did I not see you hurting?”  
“I hid it. I worked almost as hard at hiding it as I did at not acting on it. I always had. And by the time it stopped, I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want you to think I’d been hiding something important from you on purpose, because I only got out of it because of you, and without you I knew nobody would stop me. Nobody cared.”  
“I wouldn't have left you.” Spot was still holding the paper in one hand and his phone in the other. Race took the phone away and held Spot’s hand tightly. “Ever.”  
“I know that now, asshat.” Spot cracked, smiling slightly. “But I was scared anyway. I was...alone, for so long, I wouldn't have survived being alone again. So I hid all the bad emotions from you, so you wouldn't make me be alone again, and you fixed me somehow anyway.” He took a deep breath, and Race could see him struggling to keep himself together. He was exposing something he’d never told anyone before, he was letting his weaknesses out, and it meant more to Race than any “I love you” ever could. “I didn't even realize that you’d fixed me until the first time we broke up, remember that?”  
“Yeah, over that stupid-”  
“Dress. And those three days I was all alone here, and all the sudden I felt like I did before. I didn't...I don't think I noticed that I didn't feel alone and empty and worthless anymore until all the sudden I did again, and it was awful. And it didn't go away until you came back and we laughed about how stupid we were except the whole time I was just noticing how as soon as you came back and said sorry and we kissed and watched some stupid movie, how everything felt better right away, and I knew it was because of you. And that happened every time we broke up, and I felt better as soon as you came back. Nobody’s ever helped me like that before, except you. And I didn't realize how broken I was until you fixed me, or that you fixed me until you weren't there to hold me up anymore.” Spot swiped the back of his other hand across his eyes like he was wiping away tears, but there wasn't any moisture there. His other hand tightened more and more on Race’s.  
“You're not broken, Sean, you've never been broken.”  
“I was. I was so, so broken, and I’m still broken, but I’m better. Because you helped.”  
“Sean, I promise, I’ve never seen you-”  
“I never let you, okay? I didn't let anybody, not my friends, or you, teachers, sure as hell not my parents. Everybody thought, thinks, I’m just an asshole, but it’s the only way I learned to cover up how much I hurt.” Spot was gripping so tightly that it hurt, but Race was simply clutching back just as hard. “I didn't want to need anybody, so I didn't want anybody to see how much I needed somebody. And I was such an asshole to you, I didn't know why you didn't just pack up and leave, but you didn't, and I’m so glad you didn't. I needed you, I still need you.”  
“I’ll always be here, I promise.”  
“I know.” Spot breathed deeply again, like he'd been holding it. “That’s just what the note came out of, is all. Feeling so alone and hurt. And you pulled me out of that.” Race let go of Spot’s hand in favor of hugging him tightly from the side.  
“I don't care what you say, you're not broken, and I didn't fix you. You're the strongest person I know. You kept yourself alive, you worked hard, you didn't give up, you got into law school, you graduated law school with honors and you work for the best law firm in New York. That’s not broken. Maybe you felt lost and alone, but you were. That’s not broken. And you stopped yourself. That’s strong. Sean, you're the strongest person I know, you always have been.” Spot relaxed and leaned into Race, closing his eyes.  
“Thank you.” He whispered. “That’s how you fixed me.”  
“How?”  
“You built me up. You told me I was good the way I am. You fixed me.” Spot pushed them both back so they were lying down with their head on a pillow, discarding the note and curling into Race’s side. “You really did, even if you don't think so. Thank you.” Race just pulled him closer and closed his eyes.  
“I love you. I’ll always be here for you, okay? You don't need to hide things from me.”  
“I know. I know, Tony, I was just scared you'd leave me and I know you won't but I was so scared and I didn't want to be alone again.”  
“You'll never be alone again, Seany, not as long as I’m here. Ever.” He felt Spot shift even closer, pressing his face into Race’s side.  
“Thank you.” And Race knew that Spot meant so much more than that when he whispered. Spot had meant “I love you” and “I’ll never let you go” and “Thank you” all at once. Because that's how Spot Conlon handled his feelings, he showed them and crammed all of them into a few words said with more intensity than most people could. And that’s just how he thanked Race, with so much emotion crammed into two syllables that Race knew exactly what he meant even without the words.


End file.
